


Pooling Our Resources

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is a world class thief who meets Bucky (also a world class thief) at a bar and they hit it off, building a friendship that leads to romance. It's all going great until the two thieves take the same job. Nothing will be the same after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pooling Our Resources

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/gifts).



> This is from a tumblr prompt!

**_Now:_ **

“Well, are you gonna shoot me, Buck?”

“I dunno. You gonna tag me if I move, Clint?”

Fuck. The one safe in the one underground tunnel in the one basement of the one bland hotel along the Thames, and it’s where they finally run into each other at work. Clint starts a countdown in his head.

 

**_Six months earlier:_ **

“You wanna come home with me?” Bucky said, and Clint watched his muscle in his jaw tick, the tell he knew meant that Buck was nervous.

Clint raked his eyes down Bucky’s frame and appreciated the washed out jeans that hugged his hips, the tight, worn Ramones t-shirt that showed off his shoulders, the way his hand gripped his almost empty beer mug. His hair was slicked back, but a few games of darts and two rounds of pool had strands falling in his face, the dark black contrasting the blue of his eyes. “If you’re sure,” Clint answered with a shrug. He didn’t want to seem too eager.

They’d been meeting at this place for a couple months. They ran into each other one night and struck up a casual conversation about pool and Bucky had barely lost a bet with Clint over a game of darts, and conversation was always easy and about hardly anything. Clint didn’t talk about work, and when he disappeared for a week Bucky never seemed to mind. Bucky would go dark sometimes, too. If they both came back with bruises or limping sometimes, they carefully never brought it up.

They just hung out, enjoyed hanging out, and it just kept happening.

Now, he got an invite home, and he wasn’t about to pass up on this opportunity. Bucky was hotter than hell and seemed like a decent human. Clint didn’t run across too many people like that in his line of work. He’d take it when it came around.

Bucky grinned, and Clint had to swallow the feeling of goddamned amazement that someone could smile like he was a gift, and followed Buck out the door. Three hours later and he worried that he might be falling in love.

“Fuck, that was outstanding,” Clint breathed, and then rubbed his hand down Bucky’s sweaty arm. The metal arm that had held Clint steady Bucky had pressed into him was now pulling Clint close, and Clint knew he’d never been as turned on by someone’s body as tonight. “You're perfect,” he added, and he knew he was gushing, coming on too strong in the words, but Clint had never been able to control his mouth and he couldn’t very well start now.

Bucky pulled back and wiped his shaggy, sweaty hair back from his face and smirked. “Yeah? You like my arm?” He said, and his voice was off, different than Clint had ever heard before, like he was feeding Clint a line.

Clint sat up and put a hand on Bucky’s jaw. “I think I like every goddamned inch of you, Barnes” he said, and he tried to pour sincerity into it. He hated the thought of Bucky being ashamed. He’d told Clint the story one night when he was very drunk, and Bucky had no business being ashamed of what happened to his arm.

Bucky blinked, and then frowned a little before he lay back on the bed. “Yeah?” He repeated, this time uncertain.

Clint rolled on top of him, pressing his chest to Bucky’s chest and leaning in for a hot, long kiss. “Every. Goddamned. Inch,” he whispered.

Bucky grinned and pulled him in again.

After that, they exchanged phone numbers, met for dinner when they could, breakfast when they couldn’t, and tried different bars to hang out. They still never talked about work, but Clint knew Bucky was into something most likely illegal. One night Clint decided to ask.

“Are you a thief?” He said casually over a hot dog at a seedy diner.

Bucky almost choked on his milkshake before he glared at Clint and said, “What the fuck, Clint. Why would you ask that?”

Okay, well. If Bucky wasn’t going to come clean then he would. He was tired of not talking about who he really was. “Because it takes one to know one?”

Bucky stared for a second and then took another bite of his hamburger. He was quiet through a couple bites and then he sighed heavily and looked away for a moment. When he looked back at Clint his gaze bored into Clint’s eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

So they didn’t. Occasionally, especially if one of them came back from a job hurt, they’d talk strategy and technique, but it was always broad, no danger of figuring out who they were each working for, where they were working. Clint realized, though, that Bucky was very, very good at what he did. His analysis of technique was just as good as Clint’s and Clint was one of the very best in the world.

“I got a question,” Bucky said one night as they lay in bed.

“Shoot,” Clint said. He’d just finished a long job, his ribs probably shouldn’t have been asked to handle the sex he and Bucky just had, and he was still pissed about the double cross his last boss had tried to pull.

“We’re both good at our job. So why do we keep going to crappy dive bars and driving the piece of shit cars we both have and living in these garbage apartments?” Bucky asked, and it sounded like the thought had never occurred to him before.

Clint threw an arm over his face. “You want me to get us reservations at a tuxedo restaurant tomorrow night?” he asked.

Bucky pulled his arm down and pressed a kiss to Clint’s mouth. “No, but we should, like, get a penthouse somewhere or somethin’. A better place to live. Why don’t we do that?”

Clint ran his tongue over his lips and stared for a moment. “You serious, Buck? You askin’ me to move in with you?”

Bucky held Clint’s gaze. “I’m just saying, we both make good cash. I know you’ve got accounts all over the place ‘cause I’ve got accounts all over the place. We could at least get of the dumps we’re living in. Pool our resources.” He paused. “Plus I’m tired of trading off where we’re gonna sleep. Pain in the ass.”

Clint’s heart was racing. He never bought much and he kept his stuff at the thrift store level because he wanted to keep a low profile, and because it’s really just what he knew. Why would he get a penthouse when his apartment in Brooklyn was fine? Why get dressed up for a fancy restaurant when the diner served the best meatloaf he’d had since he was a kid?

And now Bucky was saying they should move in together. No one had ever asked that before.

“Clint?” Bucky said gently, and Clint realized he wasn’t really breathing. “Hey, you okay? I’m sorry for bringing it up. Forget I said it.”

“No,” Clint whispered, and then took a deep breath. “No. It’s fine. It’s great. It’s a fantastic idea. We should totally get a place together.” He leaned back in to kiss Bucky, and that’s as far with the discussion as they got that night. They moved into a modest two-bedroom in Brooklyn a month later. Clint couldn’t remember ever thinking life could be this good.

And then the ultimate job came along. It was the job thieves dreamed of. The one that would make it so they could never have to work again. Sure, a lot of them did work again, but for it to be optional, that was the goal. The job that would put the thief in control.

Clint took it, and worked harder to prep than he’d ever worked before. Bucky never asked – it was an unspoken agreement that they’d never ask about jobs – but he was working just as hard. They grabbed lunch or dinner when they could, had hot, intense, and fast sex before crashing out or going back to work. When it came time to make the grab, Clint pressed Bucky to the bed, kissed him senseless, and said, “This is a big one. If I don’t make it back there’s a safe deposit box you can open in a month. The number’s in your phone.”

Bucky didn’t answer, just cupped Clint’s face in his hands and nodded. “Be careful.”

Clint kissed him again, showered, and headed for England.

**_Now:_ **

“We’ve got three minutes, Buck,” Clint said softly. Neither man lowered their gun.

“They’ll kill me if I don’t do this, Clint. You know that.”

Clint bit his lip and nodded. “Same for me. You know it, too.  We need a plan.”

Bucky smiled. “You super-attached to our apartment?”

“I know better than to get attached to anything,” he replied with a shrug. “You attached to your name?”

“Always been too much of a mouthful. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Clint nodded. “I take the prize. You chase me, kill me, and get the goods to your boss. I’ll come back from the dead and kill you and we fuck off to a tropical island?”

Bucky held his gaze, lowered his gun, and nodded. “I’ll have to make it convincing. I’ve got a support team out front.”

Clint swallowed. “I know how to take a bullet and end up in the drink.” He didn’t look forward to a swim in the Thames, but he’d do it for this chance.

Bucky took a deep breath. “Okay. You got the safe?”

“Yeah,” Clint said and shoved his gun into his waistband. He got to work. Two minutes and forty seconds later he handed Bucky an ancient envelope and Bucky slid it into a plastic bag. Once it was secure, Bucky pulled Clint in for a kiss.

When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against Clint’s. “It’ll be a couple months.”

Clint nodded. “I know. Sucks. But then we don’t have to do this shit again. Besides, you’re worth it.” He kissed Bucky again, long and deep.

Bucky blew out a breath when they separated. “Where do you want me to hit you?”

Clint thought about it for a minute. He hated gunshot wounds. “Lower shoulder. Make ‘em think you got me in the chest, but, you know, don’t.”

“You got a team?” Bucky asked.

“Nah. I work alone. Condition of hire.” He hated teams. Never played on one as a kid, never wanted to now. Except maybe if Bucky was his team it’d be okay. That might be good.

“Okay. I’m gonna chase you outta here, catch you by the river, beat you ‘till you drop the goods, and then shoot you. Let’s make it quick.” Bucky’s face was dark.

“Buck, this’ll work.”

“You’re gonna bleed, Clint,” Bucky replied. “By someone you trust.”

“I hate to say it, but it won’t be the first time.”

Bucky looked like he’d been punched, and then he tightened his grip on his tools and nodded. “But you’ll come for me after."

“Yeah,” Clint promised. “I’ll give it two months and then I’ll come for you. You’ll know the signal.” He was confident. This time the person making him bleed will be waiting for him after. He leaned in to kiss Bucky one more time. “Okay,” he breathed against Bucky’s mouth. “Let’s do this.”

And they did. It hurt like a bitch and Clint managed to get a good infection from the river water, but an old friend helped him out when he managed to drag himself to her place in London a = day later, and she looked after him until he could get himself moving again. He made it back to New York in just under two months and had everything set up in his latest name.

After he ‘killed’ Bucky in a darkened alley with at least three witnesses who never saw him come back for Bucky’s body (injected with poison this time, a slow acting one that gave all the signs of death for twelve hours), he smuggled them both to New Orleans, as good a place as any to stage a reincarnation.

They never made it to the desert island, but when they finally felt safe a month later and found themselves in Paris, Clint booked them in one of the most expensive hotels in the city, had lobster and steak dinners delivered to their room for a couple of days, and they took turns taking each other apart in bed. As they lay sated one early morning, Bucky lay on his side facing Clint with his piercing eyes, and he brushed Clint’s cheek with his metal fingers.

Clint shuddered and blew out a shaky breath. “You feel so good,” he said, and it was true. No one had ever felt as good to him as Bucky. So sure of him, so sure of them. He was heady with the feeling that they could keep this as long as they wanted. They never had to work apart again. “Are you glad, Buck?” he asked. “Are you glad you have me here, like this?”

Bucky nodded, and he pulled the sheets up around them. “I’ll _always_ be glad to have every goddamned inch of you, Clint. I promise.”

It was the most important promise of either of their lives, and it was the only one that held.

 


End file.
